Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie, And brush the buxom seas, and o’er the billows fly.
These holy rites perform’d, they took their way Where long extended plains of pleasure lay: The verdant fields with those of heav’n may vie, With ether vested, and a purple sky; The blissful seats of happy souls below.
The Tuscan matrons with each other vied, To bless their rival sons with such a bride; But she disdains their love, to share with me The sylvan shades and vow’d virginity.
Trojans and Latians vie with like desires To make the field of battle shine with fires, And the promiscuous blaze to heav’n aspires.
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But not all shall vie for this great honor.
Sabaa Tahir -- An Ember in the Ashes
Five fortysomething women, all in capri pants, like they were rehearsing a dance show: two of them—slender and blond and tanned—vying for the lead, the others cheerfully resigned to second string.